


Why Sparrows Love the Snow

by chasingxrabbits



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Collar bone Kink, Explicit Sexual Content, Light Drinking, M/M, Tattoo Kink
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-03
Updated: 2013-08-03
Packaged: 2017-12-22 06:56:34
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,304
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/910264
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/chasingxrabbits/pseuds/chasingxrabbits
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>For this prompt at the kink meme: "So basically, Zayn’s giving Harry a collarbone tattoo, because that’s just what they do. And Zayn begins to notice just how attract Harry’s collarbones are. Before he can realize what he’s doing, he leads forward and kisses them. So yeah. See if you can go from there?"</p>
            </blockquote>





	Why Sparrows Love the Snow

It starts off like most of their other nights do - with a bottle of wine and a sitcom playing quietly in the background. Neither of them are really watching it, it’s mostly on to keep them company as they laze around.  
  
  
The sun is setting in the skyline out their living room window, basking the surrounding buildings in a pinkish glow as fat droplets of rain splat to the earth outside. The window is cracked since it’s summer and god knows they can’t afford to run the air conditioner. The sound of the drizzle is relaxing to Zayn, lulling him into a peaceful state so he guesses that it all works out. **  
  
**He’s spread out haphazardly across their couch with his head lolled back against the head cushion. He’s been gently swirling the wine in his glass for the past ten minutes in absence from the task.  
  
  
Every once in awhile he hears Harry turn a page of the magazine he’s reading, perched at the kitchen counter like he has been since four. Zayn fleetingly wonders if he’s been reading the same magazine for the entirety of that time too. He wouldn’t be surprised.  
  
  
“Zayn,” Harry drawls, making Zayn startle just a bit since either have said a word thus far. Zayn returns a hum in response, not bothering to open his eyes. “I really want a tattoo tonight.”  
 **  
  
**Zayn’s lips twitch up lazily at the corners as he processes those words - he knows they’re loaded. What Harry really means is Zayn, _I want you to give me a tattoo tonight_  and even though Zayn’s not totally opposed, he never has been one to just give in.  
  
  
“Isn’t that something,” he teases back, speech slowed in his relaxed state. “And what would you get if you were to get a tattoo tonight?”  
 **  
  
**He hears Harry stand, his stool pushing back on the tile, and pad over. There’s a dip in the couch next to him and Harry’s laying out the magazine in Zayn’s lap.  
“I really like these birds.” **  
  
  
**Zayn opens his eyes, blinking to gain back his full vision and then directing his gaze to the printing. The magazine is something about indie bands and the exact page is information about a tour. It’s got a colorful border and black script dancing along a red banner and in the very top corners are two sparrows in neutral tones.  
  
Harry’s eyes are flicking back and forth from the paper to Zayn’s face, looking for a reaction. Finally, he becomes impatient with Zayn’s silence.  
  
  
“Do you like them?” he inquires, his brow creasing in a sudden bit of self-doubt. Zayn turns his head and offers a genuine smile.   
  
  
“I do,” he informs and it’s sincere - the design is very Harry and anything that resembles Harry is bound to please Zayn, at least a little. He had been planning on teasing Harry about it, but Zayn could see the real significance beneath it all. Suddenly he would do just about anything the etch that ink into Harry’s skin. **  
  
**  
“Where do you want them?” Zayn asks and Harry’s whole face lights up like a child on Christmas and Zayn’s stomach tightens a notch.  
  
  
If he were being honest, he’d say that the best part of their friendship was fairly typical - pleasing the other, but when it came to pleasing Harry, it was never a big task. He never wanted anything expensive or difficult, never asked for anything nice for his birthday. It’s not that he didn’t show appreciation every time Zayn picked him out a new scarf on his walk home from work - sometimes Zayn even received a kiss on the cheek for it - but Harry never  _asked_  for anything like that and Zayn truly believed that was because he didn’t  _expect_  anything like that.  
  
  
What Harry did ask for were things of the more creative side. He asked for a painting when prompted for his last birthday and this won’t be the first time Zayn’s putting the needle to his skin. As a matter of fact, Zayn’s art is littered on Harry’s body, both hidden in crevices and displayed proudly in the most obvious places.  
 **  
  
**So it’s not unfamiliar territory, having Harry sitting expectantly by the patio door in the dim light - wide eyed and bushy tailed to be having this kind of attention given to him as Zayn grabs his kit and lays it out on the coffee table. He fills his wine glass again in preparation.  
  
  
Harry has decided that he wants one bird on each of his collarbones and he’s picking out the inks as Zayn’s washing his hands in the kitchen. Harry ends up sticking with the colors used in the picture and lays out the magazine neatly so that Zayn has something to go by.  
  
  
He looks almost giddy as Zayn pulls a chair up in front of him. Zayn breaths a laugh at Harry’s waiting expression and flicks the TV off by the remote before settling in.  
  
There’s a breeze coming in through the window, cool due to the rain, but humid for the same reason. Either way, it’s a relief from the weather they’ve been experiencing since this year has been particularly warm for late spring/early summer.  
  
  
Zayn picks up the plastic pallet that he uses for painting, a simple tray with a series of divots to hold the the ink and he then fills three of the wells with black, white, and navy blue for shading.  
He then leans in, reaching out as his fingers fumble with the hem of Harry’s loose t-shirt and pulls it over his head. His curls fall back into place as the article is discarded to the couch. **  
  
**  
It’s not like Zayn hasn’t seen Harry completely naked before - he has at least a thousand times since they were children - but there’s a warm rush through his core as he inspects the area he’s about to mark and it’s making him slightly uncomfortable. He reaches out with a black marker in hand and begins to draw on a rough sketch, starting with the left side. Once he’s pleased with it, he picks up the needle gun, dipping the tip into the black ink and then flicks the gun to life. **  
  
  
** Harry purses his lips just a little as needles break skin for the first time and Zayn can only imagine how sensitive the spot must be. There’s no padding in the spot he’s working - really just skin stretched out over bone, so it can’t be pleasant. Harry handles it with grace, however, since he’s already had one on his ankle and wrist, which were both pretty much the same deal.  
  
  
Zayn works on the outline of the bird first, making sure that the borders are dark enough before working on drawing out the feathers in the wings and tail. By the time he’s used the same black to start the shading on it, he’s swallowing back a nervous spit.  
  
He really doesn’t know what’s gotten into him at all. There’s nothing overtly sexual about the process - Harry’s not thrust his hips up at the pain or anything. But there’s something about the way Harry’s clavicles feel under the pads of his fingers - the way that the stretched skin keeps shifting over the bone with every little touch that has Zayn feeling uncomfortable. Or maybe too comfortable. Both are equally unsettling.   
  
  
Harry’s tongue keeps flicking out, his head ducked to watch as Zayn skillfully shades in the flying sparrow with navy once he’s finished the black.   
  
By the time he’s highlighting with the white, he actually has to make a point of keeping his free hand at his side because it kept creeping up on it’s own accord to brush at the pale skin on Harry’s other collarbone.   
  
He breathes a sigh of relief when he lowers the gun and flicks it off.   
 **  
  
**“Is it done?” Harry asks, an excited undertone to his words that has Zayn pursing back a smile.  
  
  
“This one is,” Zayn agrees, his voice cracking just slightly as he prays it goes unnoticed. Harry tucks his chin into his shoulder as his eyes move over the stained skin, a grin spreading over his lips.  
  
  
“I love it,” he declares, looking back up into Zayn’s eyes with a look of genuine satisfaction.   
  
  
Zayn nods in understanding, not really trusting his voice since its last betrayal. He can’t take his eyes off of Harry’s other, unmarked collar bone and suddenly the room is a lot hotter despite the cool breeze drifting across the space.  
  
Outside, the rain persists and the sun has escaped completely behind the skyline, shrouding the earth in a comfortable darkness. The only light they have to work with is the dim bulbs in the kitchen ceiling and the lamp tucked into the corner of the room that’s setting an unnerving shadow over Harry’s torso, making it look a great deal more pronounced.  
  
  
“Zayn?” Harry asks, ducking his head slightly to meet Zayn’s deflated position. Zayn is going to reassure him - he really is - but he opens his mouth to speak and before any noise can fabricate itself, he’s leaning in, pressing an open mouthed kiss to Harry’s chest. **  
  
  
**Harry has a no trouble, however, letting out a surprised little ah as Zayn’s wet mouth plants against the skin.  
The action is the most satisfying thing Zayn can ever remember doing and the regret of it doesn’t sink in until a few kisses to the area later as Harry’s snaking a hesitant hand into Zayn’s flat hair, pulling him closer in question.  
  
  
And even then, as the remorse should be a sharp jab, it’s a lot more like a dull nag in the farthest part of his mind, very well drowned out by the majority that’s singing praises at how Harry’s clavicle feels under his sweeping tongue.   
  
  
“I didn’t know this was part of the tattooing process,” Harry teases though his voice sounds completely wrecked and breathless like Zayn’s actions have taken him off guard. Which, they definitely have.  
  
  
“‘S’not,” Zayn mumbles against the skin, as if it wasn’t obvious. He mentally slaps himself for it, but he can’t think of any real explanation to give. What’s he going to say,  _I know we’ve been friends since grade school but I’ve suddenly got a thing for your collarbones_? **  
  
  
**Harry tries for a shaky laugh that really just comes out as a sharp exhale, his head tipped back as Zayn starts to work his way up the neck. He takes care there, pressing separated kisses into the very base of the throat, licking into the hollow dip where the clavicles are separated.  
  
His lips are moving traitorously, sweeping across Harry’s salty skin at their own pace and nipping in their desired spots, sucking where they please.  
  
  
Harry lets out a low whine and Zayn can feel it vibrate against his tongue - can feel the sound fill his mouth as he breathes it in. Zayn hums back, working up the side stretch of Harry’s neck and stopping to suck at the hollow under the corner of his jaw where the skin is stretched extra tight.  
  
  
Harry tilts his head to allow better access, tightening his long fingers where they’re now gripping needily into Zayn’s hair. He tugs the strands in plea - a plea that’s granted as Zayn nips at his earlobe and snakes an arm around the back of Harry’s neck to keep him in place.  
  
  
Harry’s letting out these little mewls as Zayn’s mouth draw near to his own, stopping to visit and trace up Harry’s jaw line along the way. He pulls back then, lips kiss swollen and wet - eyes half lidded and dazed as they stare at Harry’s waiting mouth.  
As if to grant permission, Harry reaches a hand down, lifting up the hem of Zayn’s shirt as his fingers can ghost against his hipbone. Zayn gets what he’s playing at and tugs his t-shirt off in one fluid motion, letting it drop to the carpet.  
  
  
He then leans in, both hands cupping Harry’s jaw as a steady before taking Harry’s lips in his own.   
  
  
It’s not the first time they’ve kissed, surely, but it’s never been like this. They haven’t ever been topless and on edge and  _hungry_  for it like they are now. And Harry’s kissing him back like he’s wanted to his whole life but he was just unaware of the fact.   
  
  
And maybe that is the case - maybe this moment has been a long time coming and all it took was a well placed tattoo for Zayn to realize it, but he has to no time for fate and logic as Harry’s fingers are working with skill to unbutton his jeans.   
  
  
He can remember the day he bought these jeans. The were expensive and designer and ripped at the knees and he’d loved the fuck out of them - wore them all the time because they fit right and looked even better. But now the only thing he can relate to them is loathing because they’re in the way of the only thing he knows how to want right now. **  
  
  
**Zayn wants to open his mouth, but he knows that if he does, the only thing that will come out is a jumbled mess of pleas. _Please touch me, bite me, fuck me, let me fuck you_ , is what he’d say. He’d beg in the most raw way he knows how, so he keeps his mouth shut and let’s his hands do the talking. At least instead of begging, they’re taking. They’re doing everything that he desires right now and still all he knows how to do is want more.  
  
  
Even once he’s got Harry down to nothing, his hard cock straining against his flat tummy, Zayn only wants more. Wants him on his back, wants him on his knees, wants him up against the counter and in the shower and everywhere.   
  
  
But, of course, he can only do one thing at a time so he starts with getting Harry onto the floor on back, his bottom lip bitten down in anticipation. And Zayn knows it’s not Harry’s first time doing this - he knows all too well about the boys sneaking in and out of their flat at four in the morning while he thinks Zayn is asleep. He  _should_  be asleep, but he knows. He’s heard.  
  
  
It doesn’t matter though because he takes so much time in preparation that Harry actually gets impatient.  
  
“Zayn, c’mon,” he begs and that’s enough to have Zayn coming undone at the seams. He’s never been one to deny Harry anything, because he knows that if Harry’s asking for it, that means he honestly wants it.   
  
If Zayn can name one downfall of his, it’s not being able to say no to his best friend since age seven. It’s never done him wrong before - not really - but after this experience, Zayn knows that it’ll be his Achilles’ heel. It’ll be the loose thread that, once pulled, has him unravelling at the seams. **  
  
  
**Zayn makes sure his cock is good and wet before pushing in slowly, watching for any kind of reaction, but only receiving a pair of overly pink, pursed lips in return. It’s not until Harry is pushing back against him that Zayn allows himself to move.  
  
He places both hands on the swell of Harry’s hips where the muscles are strained against the skin in his position - both of Harry’s legs wrapped around Zayn’s waist. He uses that leverage to pull Harry into him, using him as a tool to get that slick, tight slide around his cock.  
  
  
It’s delicious and delightful and so much more than Zayn would have ever thought fucking his oldest friend would be and Zayn swears to god he’s never seen Harry look so lovely in his life. He’s never seen a more beautiful human - he’s sure.  
  
  
He looks so feminine spread out like that, his arms reaching up for something to grasp in vain. His head tipped back with his halo of curls draped across the carpet. His cheeks flushed and his brow furrowed in a pained look that Zayn knows is completely the opposite.  
 **  
**Zayn is proud - feels privileged - to be able to make Harry like this, so he fucks him in earnest, leaning over him once his lips start to ache for that skin again. He nips and sucks on Harry’s collar bone - leaving the newly tattooed one at peace - until he can feel his abs tighten with an impending climax.  
  
  
Harry must be feeling it too if his long, high whines through clenched teeth are anything to go by. So Zayn grasps hold of that notion and tugs it, thrusting into him with everything he’s got as his teeth mark up the previous untouched clavicle until he knows it’s painful. Once he gets a hand around Harry’s cock, that’s the end.   
  
  
He pumps him jaggedly for only a few seconds before Harry’s crying out a choked Zayn and the word coils in the air like a thick smoke that Zayn makes a point to breath in and savor.   
  
He comes hard once he’s tipped over the edge, placing both hands on the carpet and rolling his hips up as pointedly as he can until there’s nothing left in him. And then he’s panting in air like he’s starved of it, his eyes shut loosely as his body tingles from coming so hard. He gives himself a second to catch his breath before opening his eyes.  
 ****  
  
When he does, he finds that Harry’s already watching him, and by the looks of it, he’s waiting for Zayn to flip out. Harry is expecting Zayn to startle or regret once he realizes what they’ve just done, but Zayn doesn’t. He leans in further and presses their sweat-slicked foreheads together because that’s the only way he knows how to get his point across - that it’s okay. He’s always been that for Harry and this time is no different. He wants Harry to know more than anything that this is nothing and everything at the same time.  
  
  
But he doesn’t know how to say it so he slides his cock out, eliciting a wince from Harry before leaning in to capture his lips again in reassurance. Harry kisses him back, pushing back against him in honesty, as if in thanks.   
  
  
Zayn accepts it.   
  
  
They kiss for a few long minutes in a lazy haze before Zayn staggers to his feet with a, “Stay” and clambers to the bathroom to fetch a wet rag. He takes care of Harry, dabbing his warm face and then wiping off the come just below his belly button. He discards the rag to the kitchen sink before helping Harry stand and directing him to Zayn’s bed.  
  
  
They climb in together, enjoying the feeling of the freshly cleaned sheets against their heated skin and, even though it’s only eight at night, they snuggle in close with their things still strewn about the living room.  
  
  
Harry speaks first, breaking Zayn out of his dazed state. They’re pressed up against each other tightly, limbs entangled in a mess.  
  
  
“Zayn, are we okay?” he asks, his words hiding an obviously very worried edge. Zayn nuzzles his nose into Harry’s and leans in for a kiss.  
  
  
“I love you,” Zayn assures. “Nothing can change that.”  
  
Harry hums in a pleased manner, kissing him again once, twice, three times before settling into a more relaxed state with his cheek against the pillow. Zayn enjoys the sound of fat rain drops hitting against the roof rhythmically, letting it be his comfort as he edges toward sleep.  
  
  
“Are you going to finish my other tattoo?”  
  
  
Zayn huffs a laugh, quirking an eyebrow in the dark. “We’re going to have to let the bruising go down first.”

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for the comments/kudos!!! My work can all be found at wester-fic.tumblr.com.


End file.
